Surrogacy
by Jacqi Kennedy
Summary: Family isn't just about bloodlines.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I'm poor and uncreative and therefore own nothing. Do we really still have to write disclaimers?

"This is for you Quasiouster!"

(me extra dramatically pointing to you in the crowd. You cover your heart with a hand in shock, nod and mouth 'thank you')

"You're welcome"

j/k, I don't know what's wrong with me.

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><p>Michonne's arms circled Daryl's waist tighter as she slid closer to his body for warmth. They had left the prison two days ago, continuing their search for the Governor, against Rick's wishes. The former sheriff had let it be known that he didn't approve of the pair's comings and goings, looking high and low for a man who's trail had gone cold two months ago.<p>

She knew that Daryl only continued along on these treks for her wellbeing. He and Rick had expressed their disapproval of leaving regularly and Daryl had told her that this was going to be his last trip with her. She'd only scoffed and told them that the self-proclaimed red neck slowed her down anyway.

Now she sat behind him on the motorcycle, her back screaming obscenities from being overloaded by the weight of her katana and his crossbow, as the rain poured down upon them. Up ahead, a lone rundown shack of a home rested, in a small clearing of woods, off the side of the road. She was going to tap his shoulder and point it out but of course, being the expert woodsman that he was, he had already spotted it, as she could tell from the motorcycle turning towards the shelter.

When they were a few feet away, he stopped, cut the engine and walked them the rest of the way, as he straddled the bike. Naturally the sound from the heavy rainfall would have drowned out the roar of their vehicle but it never hurt to be cautious. Especially if they were going to holed up here for the night.

Once the kickstand was applied, Daryl stood and let the bike rest, as Michonne carefully climbed off. She handed Daryl his bow and she unsheathed her katana, before they cleared the area and the home. After the inside was deemed habitable and walker free, they returned to the bike, grabbed their supplies and raced inside.

After shedding a few damp layers of clothing, they checked the home for anything of use. Of course the cupboards were bare, in her eyes.

Daryl however found a nice jug of the shine and as she finished lighting the few candles she'd found, spread throughout the kitchen, he took a seat, plopping his feet on the table. She returned to one of the cabinets near the sink, where she had seen some mason jars, plucked up two, cleaned them with the bottom of her shirt and set them before him.

"Cleanin our drinkware with your muck covered shirt," he smirked as his eyes did nothing but smile.

She couldn't hold in her laughter. "I've seen you clean things with nothing but your saliva and a dirty rag."

"Aint'cha ever heard of a spit shine?" he asked as he unplugged the jug and poured them each two fingers.

Michonne turned the chair opposite him, so that the back was against the table. She straddled the shaky piece of furniture and took the jar he slid across the table, into her hand.

The alcohol burned horribly, when she took a sip, having not drank in… well, she didn't want to try to think of how long it'd been since she'd had a decent glass of pinot noir but dear god this stuff was toxic.

And as she coughed, a hand placed to her chest, he laughed. The little shit had the nerve to laugh at her discomfort.

A boot covered foot extended towards one of the two chair legs that rested on the floor, the other two dangerously in the air, as the man leaned back, not a care in the world. He was swift to catch the edge of the table, once her foot gave his chair a love tap, causing it to teeter.

He gave her a smile, once he was safely balanced on all six of the legs at his disposal. "I'd call ya a bitch but that'd be an insult to the animal."

"I might as well be one, since you've given me fleas," she replied.

Daryl took a sip from his jar and gave her a good view of his middle finger. "I told you that I didn't know how clean that blanket was, before you got all curled up in it." His eyes shifted to the table and he studied his hand that gripped his glass. "And I got fleas too that night."

"Shouldn't've climbed in with me," she offered with a raised brow.

"Then why'd you offer?"

Naturally they would have to talk about this eventually.

The night in question had found them holed up in a fishing hut, after a prosperous night of ice fishing and a freak snowstorm had blown through. Inside the tiny hut had been a futon, a wood burning stove and a flea ridden blanket, although the last item hadn't been immediately at their disposal.

They had been laying side by side on the tiny mattress, Daryl of course making the situation much more awkward than it needed to be, by keeping painfully still and sliding closer to the wall every time she accidentally brushed him.

It wasn't until he was almost smashed between her and the wall, that he'd spotted the blanket, shoved between the futon and the wall. His hand slid into the tiny space and he gripped the fleece material between two fingers, before bringing it up and to her attention.

He'd nudged her shoulder and she'd swiped it from him.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable with it. Might catch something."

"I'll catch a cold without it," she admitted, wrapping it around her body.

He tapped his boot against hers. "Not gonna share?"

She turned on the tiny mattress, in order to face him and offered a frown. "I don't want to risk you catching anything."

"Fuck you, hoggin all that blanket."

Michonne lifted an edge of the fleeced article. "Come on in." And as the man slid closer to her, she added. "Although I should leave you out in the cold for using such foul language."

"I'll give you foul," he half threatened, all the while snuggling into her warmth.

She was by far too soft and warm for his liking and he found his thoughts wondering to other soft and warm places she may have. And he would have been content to continue wondering about these place, if she hadn't closed that little bit of space between them. Tiny, skilled hands came to rest on his lower abdomen, while her lips, yet another one of her warm and soft body parts, came to rest upon his.

Immediately, his hands went to her rear, the one he and Rick had talked about many of times during their perimeter checks of the prison and he found himself pulling away from her.

"What's the matter?" she'd asked, lips slightly swollen from their kisses.

He'd only been able to shake his head, offer her a weak nothing and spent the rest of the evening uncomfortably close to the cause of his embarrassingly stiff erection.

Now he watched her as she tried to decide the best way to answer his query. Finally she shrugged and answered, "You looked cold." She took another sip of her drink. "And I was feeling cold and lonely."

Daryl gave her a curt head nod and took a drink as well. "Fair enough."

They sat in silence, enjoying one another's company, the burning liquor and the sound of the rain falling outside. The flickering of shadows across one another's faces, the walls and furnishing from the candles, almost mesmerizing, seeming to sway and bend with the beat of the rain.

"Why'd you stop?" she asked as she studied him, with a tilt of her head.

And it was the little head tilt that she gave him which reminded him of his reason.

He took a breath, not wanting to answer truthfully, yet respecting her enough, not to lie.

She hit his hand with the back of hers, to gain his attention, as his eyes had begun to gaze up to the ceiling.

"Well?" She asked as Daryl set down his glass and ran a hand down his face. "Come on Dixon. You can't leave me hanging here."

"Fine." And when he fell into silence again, Michonne kicked his shin beneath the table, so he finally answered. "Officer Friendly is a little sweet on ya."

She laughed as she set down her glass and stood to her feet. Daryl watched her cross the space and he studied her while she peeked from behind the curtains over the sink. Although he couldn't see her face, he knew a frown adorned her features, as her eyes studied the perimeter for walkers or other, more living threats.

Their time on the road together, for so many months, had given him plenty of time to learn about her. Sure she was still quite tight lipped about her pre turn life but there were plenty of other things to learn about folks.

She enjoyed earth tones, along with jewel colored hues. Art was one of her favorite subjects, although if you were to ask Daryl it all looked like a dog had smeared its ass on a piece of canvas. She cried on rainy nights, thinking that the sound would drown out her sobs. He never asked why she cried and she never tried to give an explanation. Daryl had an inkling as to what caused her such distress, the way she would instinctively pick up the baby clothing in shades of blue, when pink was also available. And Rick having mentioned how she went out of her way to avoid him, if he were holding Judith.

He knew her well and that's why he knew, right now, that she was avoiding his eyes.

Michonne turned and faced him again, before asking, "What in the world gave you the impression that Rick Grimes is sweet on me?"

"As much as he stares at your ass," he offered.

"You both stare at my ass quite often," she reminded him. When his cheeks flushed she added, "But I have noticed Rick staring more often and his gaze going elsewhere."

Daryl laughed nervously, while adding more of the poisonous drink to his glass.

And he could tell the woman was intrigued because soon she'd rejoined him at the table and motioned for him to pour her more drink. When he did, she added, "But ass staring doesn't always equate feelings other than lust."

A dirt coated fingernail tapped his glass as he considered her question. "Do you even lust him?"

Michonne rolled her eyes. "Don't we all lust each other?" He didn't answer so she continued. "Which one of us would turn down anyone else, if the opportunity to…"

"Bump uglies," he offered.

"Sure," she smiled. "Who would turn down who, if anyone let someone know they were interested in bumping uglies." Michonne took another swallow of her drink. "Well, just Daryl Dixon apparently."

The man in question set down his jar, reached beside him for his quiver, grabbed the cleanest of rags he kept handy and began to clean his steadily dwindling supply of arrows.

"I'm tellin ya right now, had I not known how bad Rick has it for ya, I'd've ripped ya apart." His cheeks darkened more as he continued to avoid her eyes. "So can we stop talking about this shit now?"

"You brought it up," she argued.

"Well I'm bringing it back down."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note****: **Thanks for all the wonderful reviews.

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><p>It wasn't too often that Michonne was around the prison for extended periods of time, especially not long enough to be assigned chores. Yet this winter was beginning to look like it was going to be an especially brutal one for Georgia and Carol was never one to turn down extra help.<p>

The women stood side by side in the cafeteria, over the sink, gutting and scaling the plethora of fish Michonne and Daryl had brought back from their day trip. It was disgusting work but a task that needed to be done and considering it was Carol's week of kitchen duty… well, here she was.

Normally one of the many prison inhabitants would offer a hand for whoever had the task, this time however had been no such luck. Technically Carl was supposed to be on kitchen detail but he and Patrick had made a bet of sorts and Patrick, having lost, had taken on Carl's breakfast service. Most days, kitchen work consisted of prepping, cooking and cleaning for breakfast and after that they would be free until right before lunch.

Unless of course, two people returned to the prison with plenty of fresh fish that needed to be tended to.

Carol had been walking through the corridor, carrying two pails of the catch, when Michonne had caught up with her from behind with the other two buckets.

"You don't have to—" Carol began.

"I was taught that if you catch it, you clean it," Michonne interrupted with a shrug.

The duo continued their journey into the kitchen. There they set their catch down and as they set up their work area, Carol asked, "Then why isn't Daryl in here helping you and I could be out working on my tan?"

They laughed as Michonne reached for one of the knives that rested against the magnetic strip above the sink and began to scale the firsts of many fish. "When he and I arrived, he mentioned wanting to check the snares he'd set." She chopped off the fish's rear fin. "I was done with foraging for the day, so he grabbed Rick."

Carol laughed. "I'm sure it was more of them missing one another but trying to find the most macho of ways to explain hanging out."

The katana carrying woman chuckled. "Why can't men ever realize that it's okay to want to have some bonding time?"

"Because they wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong impression about them spending quality time together." Carol dipped her blade in a bucket of water, to rinse some of the muck from the serrated edges. "Maybe we should start a rumor?"

Michonne raised an eyebrow. "No one would believe it."

A shrug. "There hasn't been any good gossip around here since Patrick caught Beth kissing Zach."

"Don't remind me," Michonne said with a sigh, as she began to cut open another fish. "Carl was crushed when he found out."

It had been a well-known fact that the young teen had had a crush on the slightly older girl and now, saying that the boy had been upset was an understatement.

"Good thing Rick talked to him then," Carol added.

"Mhm," was the reply she received at the mention of Rick Grimes.

The gray haired woman was much more observant than she normally let on. She knew that the boy's father had a bit of a school boy crush on the woman beside her. At first she hadn't been sure when she'd first caught him 'appreciating' certain aspects of Michonne's physique because she noticed that many other men did as well. And when she had finally been curious enough to steal a glance herself, she understood why.

It was however a little disheartening to find Daryl sneaking looks too, one fall night when everyone had found themselves hanging out in one of the common areas. Glenn had quite literally stumbled across a boom box in the guard's breakroom and after Tyrese and Sasha had returned from a run with a pack of double d batteries, that no one could find a real use for, a party had gotten underway.

A collection of cds had been rounded up from the library and Sasha and Maggie had taken center stage, doing a weird combination of a waltz and tap dance routine. Everyone cheered them one and when Maggie had grabbed Michonne's hand to join them, most in the room had been shocked to see her stand and fully embrace the chaos.

Daryl's eyes, of course, roamed over all the ladies' bodies but had been particularly engrossed with Michonne.

Yes, Carol and Daryl were friends. Great friends, in fact. Yet Carol had begun to drop larger hints of her feelings and intentions for the man over the summer but either he was clueless or genuinely uninterested in her advances, up until this point.

She'd found herself almost seething with jealousy, until Michonne had reached for Carl, pulled him to his feet and began try to coax the teen into letting loose and enjoying the moment. And it wasn't that action that calmed her but Daryl leaning towards Rick, whispering something into his ear, until the bearded man's face had gone red with embarrassment as he avoided everyone's eyes.

Daryl had continued his quiet teasing, until Rick had whispered something that must have been equally embarrassing, while nudging Daryl's arm and looking in Carol's direction. She had immediately turned her attention back to the dancers but she could feel Daryl's eyes on her.

"So…" she trailed.

Michonne continued the task at hand, paying way more attention to the fish, than necessary. "So… what?"

"You and Rick?" she asked, setting down her knife and turning to face Michonne.

She continued to avoid her eyes. "Me and Rick, what?"

Carol gripped the edge of the large industrial sink. "Oh come on. Aside from me and Daryl, you and Rick are the next will they won't they."

The smirk that crossed the former lawyers face let Carol know that she was in trouble and would be under fire with a barrage of questions. "What is going on with you and Daryl? Cause last I heard, from present company," this said as she looked Carol up and down. "You weren't interested."

"Well, sometimes things change," she concluded as she again picked up her knife.

The women went back to work, deciding to drop the conversation, yet every now and then she felt Michonne watching her from her peripheral vision. Occasionally her mouth would open, set to say something but the words always got caught in her throat, before she went back to her work.

"Something you wanna tell me?"

Michonne dipped her hands into the bucket of clean water, grabbed a bar of soap and scrubbed them, before she allowed herself to scratch her hair vigorously.

"I kissed Daryl."

Carol had to again set her knife down and grip the edge of the sink. She calmly counted to ten before asking, "I always thought you were more interested in Rick."

Her head shook. "It's pretty equal."

As Carol scrubbed her own hands, she asked, "Is it? Or is it that Daryl is the easier option of the two?"

Still scratching her head, Michonne questioned, "How do you figure?"

"No baggage."

"Everyone has baggage," she defended.

"No children," she clarified. When the other woman was silent for some time, she added. "I'm sure you know that I lost my little girl Sophia." She let out a deep breath. "Mothers can always spot another mother, especially one that's also missing a child at their side."

Carol watched her carefully. She saw the shine in her eyes, letting her know that an onslaught of tears was approaching. When she did release them however, her hands did a weird dance of wiping her cheeks and scratching her hair.

"Are you okay?"

Michonne shook her head. "I can't stop itching. All over but especially my head," she admitted, tears still flowing however for her missing offspring.

The mother in Carol, grabbed Michonne's wrists to move her hands away from her head. She used her fingers to comb through the locs and on a closer examination concluded

"You have fleas."

At this precise moment Rick and Daryl entered the room, with the former carrying quite a few rabbits and squirrels, while the latter scratched gingerly at his brown locks.

Rick's eyes went to Carol and he greeted her with a nod of the head, before he looked to Michonne and finally back to Daryl. "What'd you do to my buddy here?" he asked. "He hasn't stopped itching since we set out for the woods."

Carol laughed. "They caught fleas."

The sheriff tilted his head as he took in Michonne, also scratching at her locs. "How'd you two manage that?"

"This one here thought it'd be a good idea to cuddle up with some dank blanket we found in that shed we camped out in last night," Daryl admitted, pointing at his friend.

She shook her head. "You're the one that found it," she half teased. "Held it towards me like you'd found a pot of gold."

"You weren't complainin then, so don't start now."

Michonne's eyes caught Rick's. "You wanna take over helping Carol." When he nodded, she did as well and began to head out of the cafeteria. "Good. I'ma try to find some way to get a warm bath and deflea myself."

Carol smiled at the flea ridden pair. "Take Daryl with you." She watched the man follow before she added. "And make sure he cleans behind his ears."

Picking up her knife, Carol turned back to the sink, while Rick watched Michonne and Daryl leave the cafeteria. When they were out of sight, he scrubbed his hands, picked up Michonne's discarded knife and began to help Carol.

They got through two buckets, before Rick finally asked, "Isn't Carl supposed to be helping you in the kitchen this week?"

She nodded. "He was," a shrug. "Him and Patrick made some kind of deal and I'm assuming Carl decided to stay up late reading comics, since he had the morning off."

Rick groaned. "I'm trying to help that kid gain some sense of responsibility and he's—"

"Learning how the real world works by shucking his responsibilities off on someone else." She chuckled. "Yeah, sounds about right."

He laughed as well. "Fair enough."

They continued slicing, gutting and scaling the fish. The rhythmic, mindless task letting them each lose themselves in their thoughts and the idea of Michonne and Daryl kissing could not escape her thoughts, as Carol occasionally stole glances of her bearded companion.

She knew that Michonne liked Rick, just as much as the man liked her. Although the pair may not have realized that the other shared their affection, everyone else in the prison knew. With Rick taking many more shifts in the guard tower while Michonne and Daryl were away, constantly on the lookout for their return. His nightly strolls down cell block D, momentarily pausing at her 'room', some nights found him wondering inside, taking a seat on her bunk and holding that hideous paper mache cat she adored.

And Rick knew about Carol's growing feelings for their long haired, bow carrying friend and she was now dying to hear how he felt about Michonne and Daryl's night away. Naturally he knew, considering he and Daryl talked about everything.

"So," Carol began. "How do you feel about this breaking development?"

He glanced at her, before his eyes went back to the task at hand. "What breaking development?"

So maybe he and Daryl didn't discuss everything like she thought and of course now, there was no way to back pedal from this.

"Daryl and Michonne apparently kissed last night."

Carol immediately saw Rick's shoulders drop and she felt awful. This really hadn't been her news to share and she had known that Rick was still trying to decipher his feelings for Michonne, while still dealing with the ring on his finger that was missing its mate.

"Hhm."

"That's it?"

He frowned. "They're both adults and we have no business meddling in theirs."

"That's it?"

A nod. "Yup."

Within an hour they were done and as they went about putting away the fish and cleaning their work station, Carl finally meandered into the room, rubbing his eyes as he yawned.

"What are you doing in here, dad," the teen mumbled as he stifled a yawn.

Rick frowned as he looked to his son. "Your job apparently." He nodded towards Carol. "Grab Carol's rag and finish helping me. She and Michonne have already done enough of your work this morning."

At the mention of the sword wielding woman's name, the boy's eyes lit up and he was moments away from spinning on his heels to find her, when Carol burst his bubble by handing over her cleaning cloth.

"She should be in the showers anyway, so you can go say hello later," she informed him, while she left the room.

As the father son team finished cleaning and sanitizing the sinks and buckets, Carl stole glances at his father.

"What?" Rick coaxed.

"Did you see her?"

"Who?" The eye roll he gave his father received a smirk, before Rick answered, "Yeah, I saw her."

Carl began to wring out his cloth, so that he could continue wiping down the inside of the sink. "How come you never go on runs with her?"

The sheriff seemed to think about this question for almost a full minute. "Because I gotta stay here and look after you and Judith."

"Please," Carl poured out the water in the bucket. "Beth always looks after Judy and I'm practically raising myself now—"

"Oh really?" Rick interrupted with a grin.

Carl laughed. "Yeah, really." He smiled. "Plus I'm sure we'd be alright if you wanted to go out for like… a quick day trip with her."

Rick washed his hands and emptied his bucket as well. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No. But I mean… it's okay."

Confused, he asked, "What's okay?"

The boy met his father's eyes. "It's okay if you want to spend some alone time with Michonne. I wouldn't be upset. And I think maybe if you two spent some time together, talking, you might get along." He shrugged as he hung his rag over the faucet, for later use. "You two have a lot in common."

Rick chuckled. "So you're a match maker now?"

Carl shook his head. "No. I just thought that maybe she'd like to talk to someone other than me and Daryl." He again looked at his dad. "And I'm not sure if you noticed but I think she likes you too."

"What makes you so sure I like her first?"

"Cause you stare at her butt." The look of disbelief his dad shot him made Carl laugh hysterically. "I don't blame you. Michonne does have a nice—"

"Carl!"

He continued to laugh as he headed for the door. "I'm a teenage boy, dad. I look at every girl's butt," he called back.


End file.
